Satin
by Piper Sargasso
Summary: The hooker was just convenient." But who was she?


Satin  
    
    By Piper Sargasso
    
    Disclaimer: Characters within belong to CC, Ten-Thirteen Productions and 
    
    Twentieth-Century Fox. No infringement intended.
    
    Author's Note: Thanks to my fabulous beta, Mimic. This is a companion piece to "Donnie Pfaster - Profile of a Fetishist" 
    
    *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
    
    I'm about to call it a night. 
    
    Three customers and all they wanted were quick blowjobs in the front seat of 
    
    their upholstered, suburban family cars. Never let it be said that the middle 
    
    class doesn't have its underbelly. Hell, brokers and businessmen make up 
    
    two-thirds of my clientele.
    
    Thirty bucks a pop just isn't gonna cut it on a slow night like tonight. Rent's due 
    
    tomorrow morning, bright and early and I know for a fact Brittany isn't doing any 
    
    better than I am tonight. 
    
    Damn, I hate this job. Sweaty men with their greasy, meaty paws all over me. But, 
    
    it's a damn sight better than living on the farm with my daddy. After Mom left us, he 
    
    started drinking heavily and usually took his anger toward her out on me. I suppose 
    
    it was convenient for him that I was the spitting image of her. Made it more real 
    
    for him as he beat me, all the while calling me by her name with bourbon-soaked breath.
    
    Small town girls with nothing but time on their hands can get into some really serious 
    
    trouble. And I was so bored. I was getting very good at learning all about men in the 
    
    back seats of their cars - even the married ones.
    
    The day I turned eighteen, I decided to leave that little section of Hell and moved 
    
    here. Pretty bold move on my part, especially since I didn't know anyone and had 
    
    no skills whatsoever. The bus fare here was stolen out of Daddy's wallet while he was  
    
    passed out from another bender and all I had left was enough for a cheap lunch and a candy bar. It was the scariest time of my life, but at least I wasn't my father's little punching bag anymore.
    
    Then I met Brit. She found me hovering in an alleyway, cold and scared and offered to take me in. She took the rest of the night off and we went to a little 24 hour diner up the road. I told her my story, she told me hers. We had an instant connection.
    
    Anyway, she let me sleep at her place while I searched for a job. Unfortunately, no one 
    
    wanted to hire a fresh-off-the-bus teenager with no employment record and a temporary 
    
    address. After a couple of weeks of the run-around I finally asked Brit what she thought 
    
    of me working with her. After all, I was very good at what I did back home. At least this way I'd have more than soggy panties and no satisfaction to show for it.
    
    At first, she wasn't going for it. She was only twenty-two, but she was like a mother hen when it came to me. After a lot of convincing, she finally agreed to show me the ropes.
    
    So now I stand on the same strip, never far from her side. Why am I thinking of these 
    
    things? Because whenever I'm tempted to run home, tail tucked firmly between my legs, I have to remind myself what I left behind and why. I have to _make_ myself remember the look on my daddy's face just before he lowers his fist to strike me, the vein that pops out of his strained neck and the glazed-over eyes.
    
    I shift impatiently from one foot to the other. Damn! Candi just got picked up. We'll never make rent at this rate - and I'm freezing my ass off out here. 
    
    Oh, thank God. Another car's pulling up. He's passing by Sasha and Lexie. He's ignoring Brit - and looking straight at me. Good. Hopefully, he'll want a little more than a blowjob.
    
    I sashay over to his car. "Hi."
    
    "Hi," he replies. He looks a little creepy, but who am I to pass up a quick buck?
    
    I ask the question carefully, as I was taught - you can't be too careful in this profession. 
    
    Cops are always lurking. "Are you looking for a date?"
    
    "Yeah."
    
    Seems harmless enough. Definitely not a cop.  "Why don't you pull up around that corner over there," I tell him. The sooner I finish with this one, the sooner I can set up for a new customer.
    
    "Actually, I was thinking of a couple of hours."
    
    Jackpot! If this guy wants a couple of hours, it's gonna cost him. Intercourse is always more expensive than the nickel and dime blowjobs and hand jobs I usually get. I think we're going to make that rent after all.
    
    "Oh! Where do you have in mind?"
    
    *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
    
    The car ride to his apartment is really quiet and uncomfortable. Neither of us says a thing. 
    
    Finally, we pull up to the front of his building. 
    
    He gets out of the car and starts walking toward the front door, leaving me behind to 
    
    catch up. And they say chivalry is dead. What a gentleman. 
    
    I follow him into his apartment and a frigid blast of air hits me, full force.
    
    "Don't you have any heat in here? It's freezing!" What's with this guy? It's not even 
    
    this cold down on the strip. I hug myself, trying to warm up a bit and look around.
    
    He turns slowly toward me, half his face obliterated in the shadows, and my flesh 
    
    prickles. Suddenly, I want to leave. He's making me nervous.
    
    "The forced air unit is broken. I'd like to run you a bath."
    
    A bath? What the hell does he want me to take a bath for? Maybe he thinks I'm dirty from other men. Don't I wish! That would mean I had some real business tonight. Anyway, we always carry the essentials in our bags; condoms, lipstick and baby wipes. That usually cleans us up in a flash. The convenience store on the corner doesn't even bother us about using their restrooms to freshen up anymore - we're like a staple there, day and night.
    
    Well, whatever gets him off, I decide. At least I'll be getting paid to relax. He leaves the 
    
    room and I hear the sound of running water. I don't know, but there's something really strange that nags me about this guy. He seems a little - off. 
    
    After a few minutes, I get impatient and follow the sound of the bath being drawn, finding him in a little bathroom. If I'm lucky and can speed this up, I'll be able to pull a few more customers before the sun rises after this. 
    
    "Is your hair treated?" he asks slowly. 
    
    "What?" What the hell...?
    
    "Do you need a shampoo for chemically treated hair?"
    
    I don't like the excited look on his face when he asks that. It's creepy. It _would _be my luck that I get some fetish freak on my hands. Brit once told me about a guy who wanted to spend his whole time rubbing himself on her feet. I wonder what this one's gonna ask me to do.
    
    "You want me to shampoo my hair?" I can't believe this. If he starts getting all weird on me, I'm outta here.
    
    "I'll pay extra, if that's something out of the ordinary."
    
    Well...
    
    "Nobody's ever asked me," I tell him. I'm not about to throw away good money just because it's a little strange. I place my bag on the floor and put my foot up on a chair, removing my boots slowly, intending to undress as sexy as possible for him. I'm always conscious of attracting repeat business. 
    
    The phone rings and he looks at me intensely, making me feel a little uneasy. This whole 
    
    _experience_ is making me uneasy. After he excuses himself, I finish undressing quickly. There's no longer an audience and I want to get into that warm water as soon as possible. What is it about bathrooms that make them the coldest part of the house?
    
    Sticking one foot gingerly into the water to test the temperature, I yelp in surprise. What the hell? There's no hot water in there at all! He wants me to take a bath in that? 
    
    I'm pissed and I want to leave. Now. 
    
    I wrap a towel around myself and find his bedroom, where I hear the sound of his voice. He's about to get a _serious_ ass chewing.
    
    "Hey, what's going on here? The water's ice cold..." My words trail off as I see the room. 
    
    Funeral sprays, everywhere, decorate the entire room. Most are dead and the sickly sweet smell of decay lingers all around me. In the middle is a wrought-iron bed with a wreath of wilted flowers on the footboard. My stomach turns as I take all this in.
    
    "What kind of sick freak are you?" I look around again and it dawns on me what the cold air and flower arrangements are for. 
    
    They're for me. 
    
    "Oh, my God," I barely hear him finishing his conversation, but his eyes are locked with mine. I'm almost paralyzed with fear. He, on the other hand, looks excited and eager. My skin puckers up into gooseflesh and I can hear the sound of my heart beating wildly in my ears. He hangs up and I reflexively back up against the wall, wanting nothing but to put as much distance between him and me as possible. 
    
    "Don't you come near me," I warn. I'm surprised my voice even works at this point, but he slowly stalks toward me anyway. My breath is rushing out of me in frantic puffs, making me lightheaded even as the fight or flight instinct is kicking in.
    
    "Don't you touch me!"  I back up into the hallway, too scared to take my eyes off of him as he inches closer and closer to me. Coming up against another wall, I try to make my voice sound threatening. 
    
    "Stay away from me! Keep away from me!" The horrified quality of my voice is nothing 
    
    compared to the absolute terror I feel. I know without a doubt I'm about to die. I'm certain 
    
    of it. It's all I can do to keep from crumpling down on the floor, rolling myself into a ball 
    
    and crying my eyes out. Sliding against the hallway wall, I vainly try one last time. "Don't come near me!"
    
    But he's already in front of me, eyes glowing in the semi-darkness and a smirk of pleasure on his face. My mind flashes back to the farm where I grew up and the tree fort Daddy built me when I was eight years old, long before Mama left and everything changed. We used to be so happy.
    
    But none of these strange visions are important because he's on top of me now, and a scream is ringing in my ears. It takes me a second to realize it belongs to me. 
    
    He draws his hand all the way back and slaps me across the face so hard I bite my tongue. The familiar coppery taste of blood fills my mouth. He twists my hair around his hand, and pulls me into the kitchen. My entire scalp feels like it's on fire. Every little yelp that slips out of me is rewarded with a swift kick to the top of my head and I'm so scared he's gonna crush my skull in that I shut up.
    
    Finally, he untangles his hand with a vicious yank. I look up from my sprawled position on the kitchen floor to see him smiling into the blade of a butcher knife. He holds it between his thumb and index finger, the handle in his other hand.
    
    "Oh, my God!" I can't help the strangled words from coming out of my mouth.
    
    Seeming to remember my presence, he bends to jerk me to my feet and pulls me into the bathroom. He ruthlessly pushes me toward the bathtub where I land, splayed out on my ass. 
    
    I struggle to get up and succeed before he lunges forward. I feel myself raise off the floor from the tremendous force with which he thrusts the knife into my stomach. 
    
    My, God! It feels like my entire body has been ripped apart, straight down the middle. White-hot sparks of pain shoot up and down and across and out of me. It's unbearable. Please, God, make it stop please, please! I know I haven't been good, but please make it all go away! Oh, God!
    
    A shrill scream is the last thing I hear, and then - darkness.
    
    ~The End~


End file.
